I hear the call of south bound geese,
Their whispered wings brush the wind.
Summer is fading,
The colder nights told me so.
Oh, stay awhile; please don’t go.
Linger warm and green the grass
Beneath my pony’s feet as we
Gallop o’er the hills.
Please--one more ride and yet another.
But, autumn will not wait.
Frost bites the blushing maple’s leaf.
Ice edges the running brook.
Snow will soon fill the meadows and the woods.